Explorations in writing, ruminating on the world.

I Want

My brow is filled with heavy determination. There is a darkness in my thoughts but also the desire to overcome it, to be more than my failures. I feel the sun breaking through clouds, covered again, sparking the edges, grays and gold. I feel like I’m knocking on walls and suddenly hit a hollow panel. I’m resonating, vibrating, growing still, and am hit again. I am a cycle of energy and apathy. I am a writer, observing the world, catching the flotsam and jetsam on this river of life to build something extraordinary. I am an observer. Wide eyes and open ears. But sometimes I fade in on myself, for there is a world within me, galaxies within me, helixing behind closed eyes. I want to be alone. All these minds jostle me, all these galaxies. They overwhelm me, press in on me. Never could I understand, comprehend, each and every one of them. I am overwhelmed. I want to get lost. I want a shipwreck, a deserted island. I want my foundations shaken, a lighthouse toppling into the ocean. Storming seas, hurricanes, I want them. I want solitude and peace. I want a cabin in the woods. I want to chop my own wood. I want snow shoes and red cheeks. I want to shiver, my body trembling with life. Am I manic? My mood swings like a pendulum on a clock on a ship on a stormy sea. I want to run with horses, scare them into kicking up their feet. I want to move like a snake, feel the ground on my belly, in cool caverns on hot sunny days, a subterranean stream sounding the ground beneath me. I want to howl at the moon, drink in the stars, let them burn in my throat, spark in my eyes. I want to cling to a cliff face, muscles quivering and burning and look down. I am a songbird in the throat of a wolf, a black cat in the eye of a dragon. I want to scream myself hoarse. There are places I want to escape to, worlds I want to run to. I want to dance around fires naked in the moonlight. Don’t call me a witch, call me a god. I want my feet on long roads which I don’t know the end of. I want dirt and gravel in my boots. I want to sleep in the sun and walk under the stars. I want to be somewhere nobody knows where I am. I’ll go to the shimmering red desert in spring, I want to see what grows there. I want red dust stuck in the crevices of my boots. My eyes read stars like books, written by nobody. I’ll topple cairns, I don’t want to go home. I’ll be a leather tramp, my boots kicking up dust.